


Firesale, or: How the Q-Branch Minions saved London

by JayEz



Series: Fixing Spectre [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Asexual Character, BAMF Farid, BAMF Minions, Crack, Humor, MI6 Family Feels, Minion-centric, Multi, Parental bond, Q Branch, Trans Character, bless their hearts, parental Q, the minions believe it's a real terrorist attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as a Q-Branch minion has all the perks of working in global espionage without the dangers and potentially lethal side effects. That is, until terrorists disable London’s infrastructure and take out all senior staff on and off site, including M, Q, and Bond.</p><p>Now it’s up to Farid, Tess, and their fellow minions to save the day… unaware that it’s all just a drill. </p><p>
  <em>(This is technically a sequel but it can be read as a standalone.)</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firesale, or: How the Q-Branch Minions saved London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linorien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Linorien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien) in the [00QPrompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/00QPrompts) collection. 



> I read the prompt – which asked for a MI5/Spooks 2x05 AU where Q-Branch Minions are led to believe an emergency drill is real – and fell in love with it since it fits so well in my verse =) Hope it lives up to what you had in mind, Linorien!
> 
> Eternal thanks to [alex_kade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade) for the wonderful beta job, and [merlenhiver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/merlenhiver) for cheerleading and concrit. I couldn’t have done this without you!
> 
> I’ve cast a very young [Naveen Andrews](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--5oU5BC9ICU/Uci40FzNKZI/AAAAAAAAKGU/hErMg0n1b0E/s320/NaveenYoung2.jpg) as Farid and [Edward Holcroft](http://images.dujour.com/wp-content/uploads/assets/media/d708569fa66b-500x600.jpg) as Hayden, if anyone wants a visual ;)
> 
>  **What you might need to know about previous parts [spoilers]:**  
>  James and Q have been together for one and a half years. Farid, then aged 17, was Q’s first hiring decision and became his protégé. Over time, they developed a father-son-type relationship, which was exacerbated when James saved Farid’s life… twice! The second time caused James severe injury, which is why he had to drop out of the Double-oh programme. M kept him on as instructor for the new agents (‘tyros’) and as a consultant for Q-Branch.  
> Oh, and there’s a very pervasive betting culture at MI6… and MI5, since the agencies have now fully merged.

Q is thrumming with anticipation, and he has no better way of channelling it than by picking at the edge of one of his laptop stickers. 

From next to him, James reaches out and covers Q’s hand with his own, effectively stopping the nervous tick. 

“I’m not on active duty anymore, love,” his partner murmurs. “I can’t fetch you a new one if you tear that one off like last time.”

“You say that as though I can’t just ask 009 or any of the other Double-ohs.”

The corner of James’s mouth curls into a smirk. “I doubt it would compare.”

“Of course,” Q scoffs, “because I place such sentimental value on cheap plastic stuck to my computer.” 

“I can personally attest to you shouting at your cats for even stubbing them with their cute little noses,” Eve interrupts before James has the chance to argue. 

Q tries not to pout, though it proves a futile endeavour. Well, he is nervous; surely he deserves some lenience today. James chuckles at his expression, though the man follows it by placing a reassuring hand on Q’s shoulder. 

“They’ll be fine,” he says, for what feels like the sixty-seventh time that morning alone. “Unlike the clots from Accounting.”

“You just want Daryl to fail,” Eve comments with a knowing smile. 

Q heaves a sigh – he should never have told James about his dalliances with Daryl Wenham, deputy head of Accounting, which is one of the three departments being assessed today. 

“Possibly,” James concedes, and Q immediately narrows his eyes at his partner. 

“You didn’t.”

The former agent feigns nonchalance. “Didn’t what, darling?”

Q looks to Eve. Anyone less familiar with the woman might fall for her feigned innocence, yet Q knows that glint in her eyes. Which is why, as soon as Bill Tanner joins them in MTAC, the Multiple Threat Alert Centre inside the CNS building, Q fixes the chief of staff with a stroppy expression.

“I thought we’d agreed no wagers today,” Q challenges. 

Tanner’s steps don’t even falter. “It’s a restricted tally, Q.”

“To whom?”

“Senior staff only,” Gareth Mallory cuts in, having just entered along with Mrs Pryce, director of MI5, and Mr Bennett, Q’s co-department head.

Any complaints Q might have wanted to voice about them placing wagers on the success or failure of his minions lose their momentum. It’s not like he can do much when even M, himself, is involved, as much as he resents it. Today might be a game to everyone else, but for Farid, it’s going to feel incredibly real. 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” M says, “we’re all gathered here for our second EERIE since the merger between MI5 and MI6. This time, the Extreme Emergency Response Initiative Exercise is going to test the Accounting, Analytics, and Q-Branch departments. Contingencies are in place; all necessary outside parties have been notified. Miss Moneypenny, if you would be so kind and pass out the assessment forms?”

Mallory gestures towards his secretary, and with a swipe of her fingers, Eve distributes the forms to everyone’s tablets. Q doesn’t get one – he’s a vital part of the simulation, pretending to be at GCHQ, and apparently too involved to pass objective judgement. 

“Mr Bond,” Mallory continues. “Are your trainees in place?” 

James nods. “Just waiting for my signal, sir.” 

“Splendid.” M seeks Q’s gaze and holds it. “All right, then. Initialise EERIE.” 

With his heart beating in his throat, Q starts phase one. 

*

_**Ninety minutes earlier** _

Even the awesomest job in the world is bound to have days that are bloody awful, Farid figures. 

At least with his job, the awful-to-awesome-ratio’s pretty much consistently tipped in favour of awesome. Maybe even perfect, though he’s gotta admit that after growing up with his piss-head of a dad and his junkie of a mum, pretty much every job that won’t make him go hungry would count as brilliant. 

But yeah, awful days. Definitely a thing, even as a Q-Branch minion. 

Most of the time Farid feels like he’s in some sorta superspy film, yet now, sprinting down the hallway to _please, fuck, no_ – all right, _not_ catch the lift, after he already overslept like some idiot, he’s reminded of how much he truly isn’t a spy. He’s just the kid who caught Q’s eye in the depth of the dark web with his hacking skills, and now he’s using his powers for good in exchange for a pretty sweet pay slip. 

When the next lift finally arrives, Farid wonders if he should’ve called in sick, ‘cause there, leaning against the glass like he owns the bloody place, is Hayden Davis, the arrogant wanker who didn’t get sacked after the old MI5 director was arrested. He got to stay on as PA or secretary or whatever, probably cause Mrs Pryce went to Oxford with the bloke’s parents or some shit like that. 

Sure, Hayden might’ve dialled back sprouting his particular brand of bigoted, narrow-minded stupidity, but that doesn’t stop the deep loathing Farid still feels for the entitled prick. He hates everything about him, from the perfectly tailored suits to his artistic stubble and full, brown locks that never look matted or whatever the fuck’s going on with Farid’s own hair most days. 

“Haddaoui,” Hayden greets him, butchering the pronunciation. Farid would bet a tenner it’s on purpose. 

“Davis,” he grinds out, pushing the button to Q-Branch’s main floor with more force than necessary. 

“Haven’t you ever heard of a comb?” Hayden remarks, squinting at the mess that’s posing as Farid’s hair this morning. 

“There ain’t no combs in the estates,” he deadpans. 

He moved from his old neighbourhood into agency-assisted housing two weeks after signing with MI6, but he doubts Hayden, who shrugs as if to prove his point, cares enough to know that. 

“Well, it’s not like you need to impress anyone,” the bloke drawls. “I mean, after the disappointment that was last month’s emergency drill, I fully understand that you don’t have anything to lose. After all, you received full marks – oh, hang on.” 

Hayden touches one of his stupidly manicured fingers against his lips in a caricature of pensiveness. “That’s right,” he jeers, “that was me. Sorry, mate.” 

“Not your mate,” Farid hisses, but the _ding_ of the lift heralding their arrival on Hayden’s level overshadows his reply. 

He’s still seething when he rushes into the main room of Q-Branch, obviously failing to evade R’s watchful eyes because the day’s not bolloxed up enough yet. 

“You’re late,” the deputy admonishes, tone hard. 

“I know,” Farid winces, catching his breath since he honest-to-god sprinted down the hallway. “Sorry, guv.”

R’s eyebrows rise so high that for a second Farid thinks they’re gonna disappear underneath the seam of her hijab – which, really, is her default reaction whenever his chav accent seeps through – but other than that the woman just waves him off to his work station. 

“You okay?” Tess asks. She’s kneeling in front of her own desk, re-adjusting the asexuality flag spanning the outer edge of it. 

Farid shrugs. “Nightmares. Didn’t hear my alarm. Y’know how it is…”

Tess doesn’t, but that’s fine. He likes that about her; she’s nice and cool, but wholesome at the same time, perfectly at home in her skin that’s unmarred ‘cause she grew up with real parents and didn’t have to latch onto Q and his badarse boyfriend. Who, for some reason, haven’t kicked his arse to the kerb. 

Farid loses himself in the tasks of his day. The clanging and typing all around him always have a calming effect on him; it’s like he enters a cocoon or something whenever he’s at Q-Branch. The main room has twenty-five work stations, Q’s own at the end in front of a gigantic wall of screens. When Farid first saw it, his gut reaction was to case the place and calculate what price the devices would fetch on the market. 

No need to get your knickers in a twist, okay – he remembered that he’s now one of thirty-eight Q-Branch minions soon enough and didn’t try to nick any stuff on his way home.

It’s Wednesday, so there’s eighteen folks here; the more practically oriented fellers like himself scattered across the main room and a few others in the row of offices down the hall leading to the lifts. Oh, and R, since the bossman’s a couple of hours over at the GCHQ to hold their hands while they reboot the system. 

Despite the shitty start, Farid almost dares to hope the day’s gonna turn out fine after all an hour into his work. 

Of course that’s the moment Analytics informs them of a threat. 

Thirty minutes later, a ruffled Hayden rushes into the room, does a three-sixty on the soles of his posh shoes, and demands, “Where’s R?”

“Stepped out a couple of minutes ago,” Yeun calls from his corner desk, farthest away from the second entrance with the glass doors Hayden used to enter. 

Hayden curses under his breath – or what counts as swearing for prep school prats like him, anyway. 

“When is she going to be back?”

Yeun shrugs, keeping his eyes trained on the specialised fabric he’s still trying to tame into wearable shape. “She said the cardamom in our break room’s empty.” 

Hayden runs a hand through his shiny blond hair as he huffs. “Right, since Allah forbid she be without her coffee for a morning…”

“Oi,” Farid speaks up. “You start getting up before sunrise to pray each day, then you can –”

_POW! POW! POW!_

A loud blaring noise cuts him off before he can finish, and as one, all eighteen of Q-Branch’s day staff freeze in whatever it is they’re doing. 

It’s the red alert. National threat level – raised to critical. 

Hayden groans. “Just great! Analytics just intercepted a communiqué about a potential attack on London, and here we go! It’s amazing how competent everyone is around here.”

Farid’s a split second away from hurling an equally scathing reply at the tosser’s head, but then his phone blares. It’s Q’s ringtone, which has Farid scrambling. 

“Guv, what happened? You on your way back yet?” Farid says, and upon hearing their boss’s name, his colleagues dash towards him, those from the offices joining them. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“I’m still at GCHQ.” Q’s voice sounds off, somehow. Raspy, for some reason. “There’s been a gas explosion of some kind; I barely got out. Everyone else is unconscious as far as I can tell.”

“Fuck, why –”

“We didn’t have much intel either,” Q gripes. 

His breathing’s heavy and there’s an echo, maybe he’s in a cupboard or something. Farid sees his own shock mirrored back at him from everyone else’s faces. Even Hayden’s gone pale. Serves him right. 

“All we knew was that a large-scale attack was imminent. Something about a firesale –”

“That’s a bleeding myth,” Farid protests, but Q barges on. 

“We’ve initialised evac for the PM and Parliament, and sent word to the Royal Family, so R won’t need to do that. M and Pryce are going to coordinate everyone’s efforts in London, so await instruct –”

Q’s voice cuts off just as somewhere on the floors above them, something detonates. 

Farid flinches violently – still does at sudden noises, and the fucking nightmares that’ve made a comeback these past few weeks ain’t helping – but at least everyone else startles just as much. 

Yet that sound wasn’t half as scary as the metallic _SCREECH_ that follows. 

“What the hell?”

“Emergency lockdown,” Hayden says, but his voice is low. 

When Farid follows his line of sight he sees why. The shutters are closing. ‘Cause that’s the fucking problem with building a Centre for National Security out of eighty-six percent glass – no matter how resilient it is, piercing it is still child’s play with the right motivation, so in case of an attack, everything’s sealed off and the lights switch on. 

Farid explodes into action then, closing the distance between him and his computer, then pulls up the agency’s internal surveillance feeds to check what happened. 

What he sees literally makes his heart skip a beat. 

Tess gasps from over his shoulder. “Neurotoxin, maybe? Q did mention gas…”

Almost everyone in the entire building’s lying on the floors of their respective offices – Eve’s draped over her desk, M slumped in his chair, Pryce sprawled across her carpet – while only Accounting and Analytics are still conscious, if starting to panic. 

Farid can empathise, seriously. 

Meanwhile Tommy, their resident expert in all things chemistry and stuff – not really Farid’s area, don’t start – is prattling on about possible airborne agents that would be capable of knocking out rooms full of people and could be fed into the building if someone managed to bribe Maintenance. 

“Airborne!” Tess cries, then shoves Farid out of the way and starts typing. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Hayden demands. 

“Isolating every department’s ventilation system before they take out all of us! Which should have happened automatically like during the drill last week but I didn’t hear the hydraulics engage.”

Farid jumps up from his chair. “We still got some of the lightweight gas masks the tyros haven’t destroyed yet. Just in case.”

Tess nods without tearing her eyes away from the screen and Farid takes off, reaching out to grab Yeun by his collar since he’s not gonna carry all that expensive tech on his own. 

By the time they get back, there’s a distinct feel of hysteria in the air. 

“It’s all over the web,” Valerie explains in a rush, gesticulating wildly with her phone like she always does when she’s agitated. “People say the gas started wafting up from the sewers.”

“Farid,” Tess snaps, “establish a connection to Analytics; someone’s jamming our signal and I can’t get through.”

“On it.”

Farid shoves the masks he’s carrying at Eddie, aka Pretty Minion but Eddie doesn’t know that’s his nickname (or he does, ‘cause even Farid’s caught on that folks call him mini-Q, and that’s just _bloody brilliant_ ), and goes to work. He spares half a thought to how everyone’s looking to Tess and him to take charge with R being AWOL and all, but really, they’re the only ones in the department who’ve passed the tests as handlers for active agents. They’re good at this shit. Usually it’s just not happening right inside the sodding building…

He’s typing at lighting speed when the screen _blacks out_ and he jerks back with an angry snarl. 

Silence.

It only lasts for six seconds; then all of Q-Branch starts talking at once. 

“What’s going on?”

“Was that our _servers_?!”

“Where’s R?!”

The shouting reminds Farid way too much of what he left behind for this bloody job. He manages to block it out long enough to check whether it’s not just a glitch or something, but no such luck. 

“Shut the hell up!” he growls eventually, and he’s not sure if the fact that the patchwork gang of nerds and scientist actually _listens_ to him should make him more or less worried. 

“Uh…” 

Great; now he’s got no clue what to say. 

“Yeah, that was the servers,” he admits, pretending like the thought isn’t enough to turn his knees into jelly. “There’s nothing; internal comms are down, so no contact to the others either.”

Hayden seems unimpressed. “Maybe you aren’t trying hard enough.”

“Says the bloke with absolutely zero knowledge about networked systems.”

“Then hack a satellite or something!” Hayden snaps. “You’re supposed to be the genius.”

Farid’s already doing that, and anyone with half a brain would see that, which is why he refuses to rise to the bait.

While Farid’s working his magic, Tess commandeers everyone into gathering what weapons they have without leaving the sealed-off department. It ain’t much, Farid could’ve told her that, but he’s a wee bit busy with shouting at his computer screen. 

“What is it now?” Hayden demands. 

“The bastards behind this are jamming all outgoing signals,” he growls, and under different circumstances the way the posh dickhead blanches would’ve brought him great satisfaction. 

“Have you tried accessing the –” Alan starts, but Farid’s miles ahead of him. 

“ECN, _of-bloody-course_ , bruv! I ain’t no tyro at this!”

Then everyone’s pitching in and Farid deflects their suggestions as calmly as he can, but seriously, these people’ve been calling him mini-Q for years, they should just shove it, _damn it._

“Uh, guys?” 

Jimmy barely says a peep – for a while Farid thought the skinny bloke who’s dancing pointe in some modern amateur ballet group on weekends was actually mute, but then again he also figured all male ballerinas were ponces; honestly, working at MI6’s been a revelation, especially with Tess’s never-ending speeches on fluidity of sexual or romantic orientations and whatnot… Anyway, when Jimmy actually opens his mouth, they tend to listen. 

“We still have electricity, so whatever the hostiles did must’ve been concentrated on the servers. If we get to one of them and disable whatever tech they’ve installed,” Jimmy suggests, “we could start communicating with the others in the building, if not the outside world.”

“You don’t even know who’s out there!” Hayden protests. “For all we know this is SPECTRE’s second coming, and you’re a bunch of untrained techies who’ve seen too much Star Wars!”

Jimmy’s jaw clenches – oh right, he hates those films, Farid remembers. Doesn’t hate them enough to tell his girlfriend’s brother to toss off when he asked him to build an android. At least he’s getting paid for the work…

“BB-8!” Farid bursts out at the sudden realisation and Jimmy furrows his brow at him until he, too, connects the dots. 

“Of course!”

Farid and Jimmy break into a sprint to fetch the robot from the chap’s office while Tess explains to Hayden what’s up before the moron has an aneurism or something. 

Thing is, their last hackathon’s only three weeks back, and Jimmy spent the time outside official challenges building a replica of that orange android even Farid had to admit was freakishly adorable when Tess dragged him to the theatre. BB-8’s all he remembers from the film, and something about Stormpilot that Tess has been yammering on about… Well, Farid’s more of a Babylon 5 fan, if he’s picking sides. 

_Yeah. Not important._

What’s important, though, is that Jimmy’s robot ain’t linked to the system, and building a non-digital remote control is something Jimmy, Alan, and Valerie could do in their sleep. 

Meanwhile, Tess is delegating everyone else. 

Distributing weapons falls to Eddie and Hank, whose nickname ‘Beast’ is partially inspired by his love for X-Men, and partially by his size – the man’s the only minion except for Eddie who actually makes regular use of the employee gym without the threat of physical evaluations looming over them. 

Tommy, Bex, Caryn, and Mark dash off to look for medical supplies and see what Q-Branch has to offer that might be used as an antidote to whatever toxin’s in the air. The four are chattering rapidly the second Tess shoos them off, and Farid understands maybe half of it. He didn’t exactly pay attention to biology in school, on the rare occasion he actually showed up. 

“Yeun,” Tess turns towards the man, “how much of the bullet-proof and knife-repellent fabric do you have on this floor?” 

“What’d you have in mind?” Yeun asks. 

“Protective gear for us, bruv,” Farid says, ‘cause isn’t it bloody obvious? 

Yeun’s eyes drift out of focus for a second, probably calculating in his head. His smile’s tight when he resurfaces. “Might be enough. Maybe.”

Tess gives a curt nod. “Take Lyla, Ricky, and Glen to help.” She aims a questioning look at Farid, who takes it as his cue to take over. 

“Kurt, see what snacks we got and ration ‘em. Make sure you check Danny’s office; bruv’s diabetic and hoarding sweets.”

That only leaves Tatsu and Roy, probably the finest mechanical engineers in the whole country – the shit Farid’s seen them do, and learned to do from those two is sick, seriously – who don’t need to be told twice to start recalibrating every remote-controlled device they can find in the depth of the department. 

Hayden is sneering at them with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “And what am I supposed to do?” 

“Stand there and look pretty,” Tess snubs, then freezes as though she didn’t intend to say that out loud. 

The plonker’s face is too hilarious, though, and Farid bursts out laughing. 

“I'm a skilled asset to this agency,” Hayden announces, ignoring Farid's whispered quip about the emphasis being on the "ass" which has Tess suppress a grin. “Or need I remind you that my marksmanship scores are only exceeded by Miss Moneypenny, and she used to be a field agent!”

“If you're so great, bruv,” Farid scoffs, “then go don one of them hazmat suits, grab a gun and do some recon. Save a damsel while you're at it, if you find one, cause I doubt Tommy and Bex are gonna be able to synthesise an antidote without a blood sample.”

“Not a bad idea, actually,” Tess says after a beat. “But I can't order you to do that, Hayden. I have no authority, technically.” 

Good thing the berk's a show off. Hayden's hesitant until Farid retrieves a pair of spy glasses and the secretary looks like he's about to cream his pants from excitement at getting to wear them. 

A few quick recalibrations and the glasses work without an uplink, but really, storing the data it records is the least of all their worries right now. 

Two hours later, Tommy and his team are working on an antidote to the toxin found in R’s blood stream. The lass is still out cold on an improvised stretcher, and Farid wonders what’s gonna tick her off more - that she missed all the fun or that it was Hayden who saved her from the thugs in black masks prowling the building that Hayden caught through his camera lens. 

If they make it out of this mess alive, that is. 

Uh, nope. 

_Ain’t thinking about that_ , Farid decides. 

He’s too busy to worry about that since they managed to navigate BB-8 to the server room closest to Q-Branch where he has the joyous (aka _shitty_ ) task of sifting through all the wires and cables to find what their faceless nemeses did to their system. At least it’s finally paying off that Q made him tidy up this sodding knot the last time he screwed up, so at least he knows his way around the stuff now.

“There!” Roy shouts right next to his ear, _fucker_ , physically pointing at the image. 

“Mate, don't touch the bloody screen!” Farid growls, “I got eyes.” 

The bloke ignores him. “We found it! Eureka!”

“Who the fuck’s Eureka?” Farid bites his lip then, ‘cause managing BB-8’s makeshift pincers ain't as easy as playing GTA. 

“You're pulling my leg,” Hayden says, completely unbidden, but what else is new. “You don't know what Eureka means?”

“Must've been covered in one of them A levels I never got.”

Hayden looks appalled. “How do you have this job without finishing school?” 

“Ignore him,” Tess butts in. “He got his GCSE after he started here.”

“Don't mean I got any more clue what the fuck Eureka is, bruv,” Farid mumbles, only half listening ‘cause - _yes_! “Take that, ya faceless pricks!” 

The room erupts into cheers as their internal network goes back online. They barely got a signal, but it’s a victory all right. 

The mood over at Analytics, who they reach first, is a lot less happy. 

“We’ve been trying to salvage as much data as we can, but it’s difficult with morale so low,” Navya admits. “Ta for sealing the airlocks, though. You saved us from whatever the heck they used on the rest of the agency.”

Much like Q-Branch, Navya’s team has been working on alternatives to waiting for a rescue party, but their department’s not really filled with tools and gadgets like Q-Branch. They’re better off than Accounting, however: the poor sods have been cooped up all this time following emergency protocols – as in, hold still and wait for backup – for the past few hours and seem to be another two away from suffering serious damage to their nogging.

“At least all that manual work that’s been piling up has been taken care of,” Wenham sighs, forcing a smile. “But now all that’s left to do is bloody wait, damn it.”

“We’re preparing an army of robots, Daryl,” Tess soothes, “we’ll take back the tower.”

Farid wants to cuff the girl’s thick head cause Davis is within earshot and he’s yet to catch on to their master plan. 

“You’re doing what?!”

 _Too late._

“Who gave you the authority to make that call, Miss Mitchell?” Hayden barks at Tess, who doesn’t flinch. “We don’t have an Executive Emergency Officer in charge down here, so everything you’re doing that isn’t holding position and waiting for backup’s going to be considered treason.”

“There is no backup!” Tess shouts back, her hands balling into fists. “You saw the footage – all agents on the premises are just as out of commission as R is right now, and before we have the antidote we’re at a serious disadvantage.”

“So you’re going to, what, send out your little toys?” Hayden laughs, short and scathing. “You really think a few nerds like you all are going to be a match for terrorists who brought an entire city to its knees? Or hell, even the entire country for all we know?”

“Better than doing nothing!” Tess snaps. “And they’re not toys.”

“Right. And gender neutral pronouns are actually necessary.” 

Several angry sounds cut through the room from the other members of their department who’ve been drawn closer by the row, and Farid’s restraint finally snaps like a twig in a storm. 

“Listen up, you fucking prick,” he snarls as he gets right into Hayden’s personal space and looks him straight into his icy-blue eyes, ignoring that the bastard’s half a head taller than him. “You might be a bloody coward, but we ain’t.”

“Aren’t,” Hayden has the gall to correct and a second later, Farid has him by the collar of his pressed shirt and pushed onto the nearest desk where the scraps of metal are hopefully digging their way into the bastard’s back in the most painful manner possible. 

“We’re not just techies,” Farid growls, close enough to see every single hair of Hayden’s pretentious stubble. “We’re Q-Branch minions, and right now we’re the only ones in this entire fucking building with the means to do something, so you can take your high ‘n mighty attitude and shove it, _mate_. ‘Cause we’ve got a plan and if you don’t like it then guess what? We don’t give a toss!” 

Farid pushes off the bloke and whirls around, meeting everyone’s stares, which is why he catches it when Yeun’s eyes flicker to something behind Farid. 

He blocks Hayden’s hit, then another. That posh git’s good, he’s gotta admit that, but Farid learned his skills on the streets and got some tricks up his sleeves. 

A minute later, Hayden’s on his stomach with Farid’s knee pressing into his lower back. He blinks at Tess for suggestions. 

“Unhand me right now, you daft git!”

Tess grins. “Let him up, Farid, I think he got it.”

With a snort, Farid complies, grinning when Hayden straightens up and touches his split lip. “You gonna behave now, bruv?”

If looks could kill, Farid would be deader than dead right now, but at least Hayden’s nodding. 

“Back to work, everyone!” Tess orders, and Farid returns to where Wenham’s still on the video feed. 

“I’ve been shouting for ages, kid!” the man grouses. “The terrorists are trying to get into our department, listen –”

The image changes and Farid leans in. Even over the blood rushing in his ears he can make out some sort of drilling sound. 

“We’re sending help asap, guv,” Farid promises, then sprints to Tatsu and Roy. 

“What’ve we got?”

“Uh,” Roy stutters, but Tatsu is already shoving a drone at Farid. 

“Take this,” she says. “We’ve fitted it with a paralytic agent; it won’t do much since they’re bound to be wearing gas masks so what they’re absorbing through their skin’s going to have to be enough, but it’ll buy us some time.”

It does – the group of five masked blokes trying to circumvent the sealed-off Accounting department scuttle when the drone douses them with the biochemical weapon, but five minutes later, someone’s brute-forcing their way into Q-Branch’s rudimentary system and opening a video feed. 

The man in the low-resolution window doesn’t have his mask on, but that ain’t helping much. Slavic features, if Farid had to guess, and a quite impressive scar splitting his left cheek. He’s pointing a gun at an awake but restrained Eve, who’s struggling in his grip and trying to shift the cloth silencing her, yet it’s in vain. 

“I think we should have a little chat,” Thug In Charge says pleasantly, eastern-European accent colouring his words as though he’s over for tea or some shit. Farid dubs him Scar. 

“Fine,” Tess says through gritted teeth. “Talk.”

“Oh no, Miss Mitchell,” Scar sneers. 

How does that tosser know her name?! 

Farid exchanges panicked looks with the rest of their team. Even Hayden swallows. 

“I’d prefer something face-to-face,” Scar specifies. “Come to the thirteenth floor, alone and unarmed. I’m sure you know by now that the toxin we used to knock out your dear colleagues has decayed, so you don’t need to worry about that. Be there in five minutes, or this lovely lady…” Scar traces the barrel of his gun across Eve’s cheek. “Well. I’m sure you can imagine.”

The feed vanishes just as abruptly as it appeared. Tess’s eyes remain on the screen and Farid can see the wheels in her mind turning. 

“All right,” she says on an exhale. “Let’s do this.”

“You can’t be serious!” 

_Of-bloody-course_ Hayden’s gotta protest. 

“I won’t be going in blind,” Tess shouts over her shoulder, already halfway across the room. 

They have maybe three minutes to come up with a plan to level the playing field, and Farid’s head’s still spinning a hundred-and-fifty-three seconds later when Tess exits Q-Branch through the secret access point they smuggled Hayden out of just hours ago. 

Her compound bow is hidden underneath the fabric of her jacket, ready to be deployed should things go sideways, and Farid’s currently guiding all eleven of his spiders through the ventilation shafts. 

The spiders are the newest generation of his design – made to look like actual animals, but in reality hiding an array of functions. Mostly surveillance, so Farid will have eyes on Tess even if the thugs make her remove the spy glasses she’s wearing, but his babies also got tranquilisers. 

Not much of it, admittedly, cause they’re pretty small, but the Biochemical Warfare Squad (as Tommy’s calling his team now) has been cooking up the stuff for the past hour. The tiniest dose could knock out a horse, according to them. 

Everyone’s gathered around Farid, eyes glued to the screen. The angle’s for shit ‘cause the two spiders designated as surveillance are on the wall and the ceiling, respectively, but at least they transmit audio and visual pretty well.

The other nine took a different route, which was a bitch to navigate but somehow Farid managed to operate what’s basically eleven avatars – proving that all the time he ‘wasted’ on playing video games taught him some serious life skills; _suck on that, Bond_ – and are approaching the group of thugs still in front of the door to Accounting as silently as possible. One of them’s also in surveillance mode, so there’s another angle.

“Bin the glasses, lovely,” Scar sneers, motioning with his gun while his other hand tightens around Eve. The rest of his gang are backing him, weapons at the ready. 

Tess grumbles but complies, kicking the device away from her. 

“You wanted to talk. So talk.”

“Someone’s been watching too many action films,” Scar says with a chuckle. “I’m not here to exchange snarky one liners.”

“Then what do you want?” Tess grinds out. 

Her arms are raised with her hands above her head. It’s so she can grab her bow as soon as possible once Farid gets the signal, which hopefully is still a couple of minutes off since he’s still in the middle of his stealthy approach. He sees Hayden’s hand clench and unclench from the corner of his perception; it’s a miracle the coward’s not wetting his designer trousers. 

“What’d ya think?” Scar’s grin looks like Farid always figured sharks would smile. “Unconditional surrender. You stop this pathetic little charade, give up the gadgets, and we’ll even let your colleagues live.”

“Forget it.”

Scar tuts, all patronising and condescending like they haven’t just freaking _cornered_ the bloke, but then again the thug’s got no clue about that. 

“You’re actually willing to sacrifice Mrs Moneypenny here?” Scar wonders idly, though Tess responds with a question of her own. 

“Why’re you doing this?” 

Hayden makes a displeased noise at the back of his throat. “A giant sign telling them she’s stalling would’ve been less obvious.” 

“Shut it, Davis.” 

Farid’s tone is as venomous as he manages, what with ninety percent of his attention on getting his spiders in place so he can actually save Tess’s arse like he promised he would. 

“Then get on with it, for Christ’s sake! She’s preparing for the signal!” Hayden urges like Farid’s in some sorta alternate universe where he doesn’t see his best friend’s fingers twitch. 

His muttered “Toss off, you wanker,” is more reflex than conscious action ‘cause one of the thugs just glanced behind him and everyone’s breath catches as Farid’s fingers freeze – for nothing more than a second since Scar’s reply draws everyone’s attention again and the spiders proceed undetected. 

“Why does anyone do anything, Miss Mitchell? Money, power, love… you want a soliloquy about our motivations?”

Tess’s shoulders twitch in what would’ve been a shrug if she wasn’t so bloody nervous, Farid’s certain. 

“Once I know what’s in this for you, maybe we can help you.”

“Hear that?” Scar forcibly turns Eve’s head so she’s meeting his eyes. “Your little minions think they have more to offer me than SPECTRE.”

Tess pounces immediately. “SPECTRE’s paying you?” 

Farid doesn’t hear Scar’s reply because _hell yes, fucking finally_ , he’s in place! Roy gives Farid’s shoulders an excited squeeze as the rest of the gang cheers. Hayden only tenses further. 

Time to get the party started. Farid shakes out his hands and forces a few deep breaths. Tess folds her left thumb, then her right, lowering her hands while Farid takes aim. 

When it does, everything happens at once. 

Five tranquiliser darts fly through the air and hit all of their black-clad targets right in their vulnerable necks, the next salve already prepared for firing, while Tess has produced her bow, palm print scanner activating it right as she’s finding her target. Eve waits until the perfect moment to go limp in Scar’s arms. He almost overbalances – obviously didn’t think a bunch of techies were much of a match for him, that daft fucker – and gets an arrow to the shoulder for his arrogance. 

The second salve of tranqs finally screws up even the last bad guy’s metabolism and the two who haven’t collapsed do so now, joining their comrades in a harmless heap on the floor. 

An arrow hurts like hell, Farid would’ve known that even without hearing Scar’s pained cry as the projectile embeds itself in his flesh. In a flurry of movement too quick for him to follow, Moneypenny gains the upper hand and disarms her captor after escaping her ties while Tess covers her, another arrow knocked already. 

Farid takes a screenshot, ‘cause that’s one banging profile pic right there. 

“Farid!” Tess barks once she’s activated her earpiece, startling him out of his daydream. 

“Calm your tits, bruv, I’m on it.”

“I’ve seen you hack the system in half this time, come on!”

Farid types faster. “Okay, near death experiences make you crankier than Q on tea withdrawal, got it…”

“I’d just like to free Accounting before their mercenary friends show up on this floor.”

Tess’s tone is still gruff, even as she joins Eve in tying up the unconscious men on the ground. The moment they’re done, Farid hits the last key and with an audible screech, the locks disengage and Wenham pokes his head out tentatively. 

“All right,” Farid announces to the rest of his team. “Back to work, folks; we’re gonna need more if we’re gonna kick just as much arse in front of Analytics.”

After everyone’s scurried off to their nooks, he updates Navya and scourges the internal CCTV for any traces of their nemeses. 

“There!” Hayden points to one of the feeds. Why’s the bloke even still standing here?

“I got eyes, pal.”

“Pardon me for trying to help.”

“Oh, so you ready to admit we’re actually pretty fuckin’ badarse at this whole thing?”

Hayden makes a show of shuddering at his language, but otherwise doesn’t comment. Farid informs Tess about the brewing trouble, but the remaining thugs – only five, which really makes Farid question the building’s basic security if it only took eleven sodding people to claim the tower – are still several floors above their retreating troops. 

Unsurprisingly, their opponents stop in front of the sealed-off doors of the Analytics Hub and start drilling. 

“Relax, we got this,” Farid promises Navya, but he ain’t sure how much of the assurance she understood ‘cause there’s currently a screwdriver stuck between his teeth as he works on their fourth and final drone.

“You’re disgusting,” Hayden comments. 

“Your face is disgusting,” is Farid’s hilariously witty reply. He’s darn distracted, all right? 

Wenham groans from a few meters away, lowering the water bottle Kurt’s been doling out to the poor sods who’ve been without supplies for hours. “Please, just save your awful flirting for later; no one wants to hear it.”

“Get bent, Daryl,” Hayden tells him. “I’m way out of his league anyway.”

Farid startles once his brain processes what just happened and the screwdriver falls from his lips. “Wha’?!”

There’s a coy smile playing about Wenham’s lips as he considers Farid. “I don’t know, Hayden; from where I’m standing mini-Q’s helped save all our arses while you’re just providing unnecessary commentary.” 

“Listen, bruv,” Farid starts, feeling something hot and angry curling in his chest. “Even if I fancied blokes, I wouldn’t shag that toff if he paid me –”

Tess steps into his line of sight then, stilling his arm that’s been waving about the drone with a hand on his wrist and a frankly terrifying glare. 

Farid ignores both Hayden and Wenham – and what’s the deal with those two anyway? Everyone not living under a rock knows Wenham’s anyone’s for a pint and a packet of crisps, though Farid’s never heard any type of gossip about who Davis likes to pull. Probably ‘cause no one’s touching the git outta their own free will.

Tess clears her throat. 

Drone attack. Right. 

Tatsu, Roy, and Farid hand over the devices to Bex, Ricky and Glen who rush off to deploy them outside Q-Branch, the Biochemical Warfare Squad (they definitely need a better handle, seriously) on their heel to check everything’s ready. ‘Cause why send out untrained minions when you got the tech to release some remote-controlled fury on their arses? 

“They’re almost in!” Valerie shouts across the room, and Farid sprints to the surveillance station with Tatsu and Roy, shoving Hayden outta his path – maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary, yeah, yeah, cry him a river – to watch one of their nemeses reposition the drill on the wall. 

“How the heck do they know how to disable the locks?” Hank wonders, and someone from Accounting replies but Farid’s not listening anymore in favour of assuming control of his drone, Tatsu and Roy mirroring him. 

They’ve got four screens, one for each drone and the other broadcasting from Navya’s laptop, though the gal ain’t sitting there anymore. She’s found a gun somewhere and is crouched behind an overturned desk, preparing for the worst case scenario of the thugs actually getting in before their saviours arrive. 

“Can’t these things fly faster?” Hayden complains from right behind Farid. 

“Propulsor tech’s still in beta, _mate_ ,” Farid snubs. 

He’s not the only one, and soon several people are chattering like a herd of nervous rabbits, for fuck’s sake, and the noise swells until it feels like it’s crushing Farid’s shoulders and compressing his chest and bloody hell, he doesn’t need a freakin’ panic attack right know –

“SHUT UP,” he shouts as loud as he can. “None ‘o you fuckers know bugger all about this, so shut up and let us do this!”

Blessed silence follows his outburst, thank the gods, and the pressure in his chest eases while the elevator into which they flew the drone (‘cause the minions rule, but equipping their machines with an arm to open the still unautomated doors of the stairwells would’ve taken a minute they seriously don’t have… and how the heck’s analogue doors still not a thing? ) reaches their destination. 

Farid navigates his around the last corner first. They’re not a second too late.

“Now!” he orders, and the hallway suddenly fills with gas clouds that consume the blokes just as they step back to pry the doors open.

No one in Q-Branch moves a muscle while they’re waiting for whatever Tommy equipped their birds with to take effect, staring at the feeds that show fog wafting lazily from the hallway and the people in Analytics frozen in anticipation. 

Only Caryn’s been looking at her watch. “Ninety seconds.”

“Go ahead,” Tommy says, his voice trembling a bit. 

From the corners of his eyes, Farid catches Roy and Tatsu glance at him, so with a huff and a few key strokes, his drone’s flying forward, peeking around the corner. The mist’s dissolved enough to make out four bodies on the floor, limp and blessedly unconscious. 

He seeks Tess’s eyes and she gives a curt nod. Everyone heaves a sigh of relief and bursts into laughter that’s only slightly manic. Meanwhile Farid reaches behind him for the nearest person and drags them forward by their belt, feeling smooth leather that’s probably cost half his bloody pay slip, while he rolls his chair towards the fourth computer. 

“Press that button,” he orders, only realising he grabbed Hayden when the chap hesitates, a sour expression on his stupid face. 

“Just fucking do it, a’right, I gotta signal Navya,” Farid barks and the wanker graciously deems to obey while Farid starts typing as fast as he can.

“You have an open channel _right there_ ,” Hayden grumbles. 

“They’re across the bloody room, you twat,” Farid points out, “so I’m highjacking the speaker system.”

“And how long’s that gonna –” 

But the posh git doesn’t get to finish his question ‘cause Farid’s the best (well, after Q) and he’s already tapped the in-house intercom plus amped up the mic closest to him. 

“We got ‘em! Coast’s clear, now get out there and restrain those bastards!”

He watches everyone in Analytics slump wherever they’ve taken cover and slides back to where Hayden’s still pressing the necessary key. The bloke jerks back when Farid takes over, skin-to-skin contact and all, without warning the guy cause he just saved the day and he deserves getting one over the annoying berk.

Farid’s grinning as he navigates the drone closer to where one of the analysts tugs at the thug’s masks after tying his hands with a scarf. 

“What the ever-loving fuck?!”

At his gasp, even the last accountant turns to stare at the feed, showing none other than on of the tyros that Bond’s been training. 

A deafening _BANG_ cuts through the silence, and before anyone’s got their wits back, the metal shutters unlock and pull back, the artificial lamps flicker off as Q-Branch fills with early evening sunlight. 

No one moves until Hayden raises his hands. 

And _claps_. 

Farid stares at the man. _What the bloody fuck is going on?_

Every screen in the room flickers, then blacks out. Farid’s heart’s taken up a new home in his throat, making it hard to breathe. 

The computers switch on again, and everyone startles cause that’s M honest-to-god smiling at them, looking absolutely unfazed like them thugs never got to – _oh._

“Congratulations,” M says. “Well done.”

*

It takes a butt load of explaining and reassurance that ‘Yes, this was a drill’, and ‘No, everyone’s fine’ on the part of their fearless leaders to get everyone to calm down again, and even then Farid’s still kinda dazed by the Cabin In The Woods-type of deception. 

“You bloody knew?” he asks Hayden, who’s smirking at the room at large, looking way too smug for Farid’s liking. 

The man shrugs. “They needed someone to sow discord. Instigate some protests, and the like.”

“Wait, so you gettin’ on my wick all the time, that was part of the sodding test?” 

The corners of Hayden’s lips perk up and Farid groans, throwing up his hands. 

“Un-fucking-believable… Must’ve bolloxed up something big to get saddled with that job.”

He doesn’t expect the answering grin splitting Hayden’s face. “Oh, I volunteered.”

“For real, bruv?” Farid shakes his head. “R’s still gonna be ticked off you saved her.”

“I doubt that. R and I actually get on now.”

“Since when?” Farid scoffs, though Hayden just cocks an eyebrow. “Didn’t you insult her just last week?”

At that, the git actually drops his gaze, sort of bashfully, too. Farid wonders if there’s a way he got a mouthful of gas after all and this all’s just a weird projection of his subconscious while he’s drooling on the floor as terrorists take over the city. 

“Well, everyone slips up. You’re still using ‘poofter’ as an insult from time to time, last I heard.”

Farid stares. It’s not like he can deny it, cause, uh, yeah. Just weird that Hayden knows he’s paying attention to what’s coming outa his mouth ever since Tess went all “Words have power” on his arse. 

“You tellin’ me you ain’t lecturing R about women’s rights no more?”

He’s really laying on the accent just to make the chap cringe – which he does – but the question’s genuine. Hayden could probably infer that from his tone, cause he nods. 

“I am capable of using Google. Or actually talking to real humans and asking. Or listening, in her case.”

Huh, so R’s been enlightening their resident bigot about Islam and stuff. Farid’s alternate reality theory’s gaining more and more traction. 

Before he can say anything else, though, there’s a commotion and then Q’s there, followed closely by Bond who’s looking torn between respect and disappointment, and Farid’s heart sinks even though he knows it can’t be because of what he did, ‘cause even M said he made the drill his bitch. Well, only posher. 

Doesn’t change, however, that for most of the day Farid’s believed Q’s been trapped at GCHQ and being tortured or something equally horrible, and now his boss is here, alive and unharmed and seriously smiling like he does when he’s proud. 

“That was fuckin’ rank, guv!” he swears, though it’s muffled by the fabric of Q’s cardigan since Farid’s body overrode all restraint and just hugged the man. 

He feels Q awkwardly patting his shoulder and pulls back, but he’s still smiling. 

“Yes, you did good, Farid. I’m proud of you.”

He hates his throat a little bit for closing up, and his eyes ‘cause they’re starting to sting, so Farid quickly turns to Bond. “What about you, teach? What’s with the scowly face?”

“Don’t mind him,” Q cuts in. “He’s just pouting because Daryl didn’t flame out today.” 

“Hang on,” Farid gapes at Bond, “you bet on this?” 

The former agent grumbles something unintelligible that earns him a stern look from his boyfriend. Good to know Q disapproves. 

“Well, let’s head outside,” Q suggests. “The cafeteria prepared a barbecue for everyone involved. You must be famished.”

Farid nods eagerly and skips after the two men. He’s several strides away when he remembers Hayden and turns around to check how disgruntled the bloke looks about being ignored, but the man’s expression’s nowhere near annoyed. There’s a sort of morose or wistful look on his face if Farid had to put a word to it, with some jealousy mixed in, too. 

Right, ain’t rich folks all about that stiff upper lip? Probably not a lotta hugs or pats on the back in the Davis mansion. 

Farid might feel bad, but: _mansion._

“Coming, kid?” Bond calls out, pulling Farid out of his head and back to reality. 

“Coming, teach!” 

“Stop using that nickname.”

Farid flashes a grin. “You love it,” he insists. 

Bond protests, Q rolls his eyes, and Farid’s pulse reaches pre-drill levels. Despite all that’s gone down, he’s really bloody glad he didn’t stay in bed today. 

*

“And for James – aw, would you look at that,” Eve coos at her tablet an hour after everyone spilled outside to soak in the last rays of sunlight. “Nothing for bet number one.”

James’s left eye gives the merest hint of a twitch, which Q only notices since he was looking for it. Now that his partner isn’t on active duty anymore, spotting his tells has become Q’s favourite pastime. Well, in addition to falling asleep next to him every night. 

“That’s all right.”

“Oh yes – bet number two,” Eve announces, swiping her finger over the display to check. 

And to think before Q came along, they were doing such calculations _by hand._

Eve hands over an impressive amount of notes, even by ‘top tier staff only’ standards, and James smirks, then refuses to tell Q what exactly he placed his money on. 

“Fine, I’ll just hack the software later,” Q eventually decides with a huff. “I wrote the bloody thing, after all.”

He gets the chance after nightfall while everyone relocates to Q-Branch for an impromptu celebration that M and Pryce approved to general surprise, and James drags his trainees off to fetch drinks.

“We just woke up!” Preeta protests, her classmates echoing the sentiment and pointedly scratching the band aids covering the puncture marks from where medical administered the antidote to the paralytic agent Tommy and Bex dosed them with earlier that evening. 

James merely gives his Ducklings a look and they fall into step behind him, demonstrating how their nickname came about. 

“He was the only one who predicted Farid would assume leadership like he did,” Eve confirms, and Q has to take a deep breath to stave off a rather embarrassing sound. 

Later, when Mallory off-handedly insinuates he can see Farid and Tess as future department leaders, Q has less presence of mind. 

James chuckles next to him, earning him a playful shove, and the man lets himself flop against the armrest of the sofa they borrowed from Q’s office. 

Obviously Farid has to choose that moment to announce they’re starting a round of karaoke at the top of his lungs, and Q hangs his head. 

“Well, in a decade or two,” Mallory adds, eyebrows lifting towards his thinning hairline as he squints at where Farid and Kurt are installing a microphone they must have borrowed from Maintenance. 

“Should I put a stop to this?” Hayden asks Pryce, following everyone’s gaze.

The MI5 director shakes her head. “Rumour has it Haddaoui is quite the singer. I’m curious to see if it’s true.”

“It is,” Q confirms immediately, only to blush when everyone’s head turns towards him. 

James, because he’s the world’s greatest partner, changes the topic as smoothly as only a seasoned field agent is capable of. He even ensures no one catches Q snapping a picture of Hayden’s flabbergasted expression in reaction to Farid and Eddie’s rendition of _Raise Your Glass_. 

His protégé and his fellow minions seem to be taking the title by its word. Q feels James’s chest heave with a sigh. 

“I reckon we’ll have a house guest tonight.”

“We could always put him up in your flat instead of my sofa,” Q suggests, pretending it’s a serious suggestion. 

James merely chuckles and they exchange a glance, same fond twinkle in their eyes. Q settles deeper against his partner, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I had SO MUCH FUN writing this! If you enjoyed reading this half as much, then I'm one happy author. Thoughts? Reactions? 
> 
> PS: I'm celebrating my birthday (March 15) by contributing to the [Coldwave Week](http://archiveofourown.org/series/423265), and then my BA thesis awaits me... but part IV of this series is already in the works, as is the sequel to [Education](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5072257/chapters/11664067). Just for the record =)


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